


There is No Peace for the Hero

by theeriinyes



Series: The Memories that Haunt Us [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-13
Updated: 2015-02-13
Packaged: 2018-03-12 04:17:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,939
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3343382
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theeriinyes/pseuds/theeriinyes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The war against Voldemort lasts eight long years. Death, destruction and pain become the life of the members of the Order of the Phoenix. But in the immediate aftermath, there is a scrambling to try to find a semblance of normality. Yet how can there be normality after living through the horrors of war. A series of short pieces of how certain members of the Order of the Phoenix must survive through the aftermath of the war. To try to find out how to live while the horrors of war haunt them. </p><p>PART I: There is No Peace for the Hero</p>
            </blockquote>





	There is No Peace for the Hero

**Author's Note:**

> Mentions of post-traumatic stress disorder, physical scars, death, loss. Implied depression

Broken pieces of life. This is where they stood with a war defining their very sense of being. Their identity sewn into the fabric of war with seas of red flooding the stitches. They clutched to anything that could make them human. Remind them what it felt like to be alive rather than the lifeless bodies that they inhabited. Where survival became second nature. And daily needs were cumbersome and cluttered and forgotten.

Scattered against the wind, the last members of the Order of the Phoenix sought to fight against the forces that tugged them back to the horrors and plights that haunted them. Some remained in the comfort of what they knew. While some cast their lines to the far out reaches of the waters hoping to find what they were missing.

Running from the darkness that lurked in every corner.

Harry Potter had been the first to flee. His eyes haunted by the death and carnage that he still carried with him. Weighing him down as if he immortalized the hunched figure of Atlas with the world upon his shoulders. A hero’s life would never be for him as the lightening scar shone brighter calling unfamiliar eyes to him. He hated it. And so he escaped leaving everything he had thought he loved behind.

Her laugh. Her smile. Her family. They would never leave England and they would always carry her ghost.

Long days of solitude were how he spent his days as he searched for the peace he thought defeating Voldemort would bring. But after eight long years of battle with many of them held at a frustrating stalemate, Harry Potter knew not what peace was.

Instead he sat on the grassy moors of Ireland. The modest muggle life in a quiet Irish town had become a sanctuary for him. There he could ignore the responsibilities that had been thrust on his shoulders. There he could ignore the very memory of her that never let him have a moment’s peace. The very same thing that spurred him from being able to stare Molly Weasley in the eye. The woman who had to bury her children in the sand. A task no parent should be subjected too.

Her death had been uncalculated as most were. Her missions had never been any less dangerous or life threatening. But this mission shouldn’t have resulted in any deaths. She had never been good at following orders and it would be her downfall. It had not been the killing curse that led to her demise. Rather it was her unwavering stubbornness that had forced her hand. The fire had been spreading quickly. She was a hero. At least that was the story Neville Longbottom had the unfortunate task of telling. Harry would never blame him. He blamed himself enough for the both of them. Neville who would never wash the guilt of her death from his hands.

But that never stopped him from hating that she wasn’t the one to live while the others died. Hideous thoughts were no longer stranger to him. He locked his grief away until the war was over only allowing himself single moments for those hideous thoughts to permeate in his mind. In those moments, Harry knew that he would never stop carrying her with him. Just like Neville carried her death with him so would he as the faces of his last remaining family turned to ash and tears. His failure at not keeping her safe for them. But now the war had been won. And yet, he had not felt an ounce of the grief he had been expecting. Apathy reigned supreme.

Life moved on. Even though the memories never left him. Harry kept a low profile in the town as he worked as a cashier at the local wine and beer store. Friendly warm smiles were always bestowed upon him. But he knew that his response was never ideal. Sometimes he wonders if they can see the horrors in his eyes.

* * *

It’s on the third year that he leaves his job.

The mundane tasks no longer soothing as the stress levels beginning to cause strain on his nerves. He decides to tackle the number of books that he has accumulated among the years. The silence welcomed but the echo of voices from his past never fail to invade the peace he clutches for a few moments. It’s in this time of his life that Luna Lovegood crashes into his world.

Her hair longer and much wilder than he remembered it. As if she hadn’t cut it in the years since he last saw her. Her strands trickled down her back like rays of white gold. Her crystal blue eyes still as wide and all knowing. It did not surprise him that she still lived in her own world. Something he had always admired her for. But in the depths of ceaseless gaze, Harry saw the jaded pieces within her. Equally as broken as the rest.

She had not explained why she had come or when she would be leaving. Luna arrived unexpectedly but her presence cemented itself from the moment she stepped into the house. He remembered the day when he realized how easily her presence seeped into his daily life. It was also the first day he had cried.

_"Harry? Where’s my box of Nargles."_

_Brushing the endless mess of hair on his face, he cast a look at his companion no longer batting an eyelash at the absurdity, “I think I saw it on top of the Telly.”_

_Her feet danced awkwardly in his peripheral vision as she stated with an easy grin, “I’m behind you Harry.” The words spoken for his benefit. Too often had Luna surprised him only to have his wand pointed at her skull and the killing curse on his lips as flashbacks pained his mind. Her lips were soon gently pressed on his cheek before she swam from his vision again._

_The familiarity of the action struck him. His vision hazed as his Adam’s apple bobbed nervously in his throat. Blinking Harry tried to steady himself as a noise echoed in the room; unaware that it was he who made those sounds. His consciousness uneasy and unconnected. It only hit him when he felt her arms wrapped around his body that the tears were his. His grief crashing into him with the knowledge that before the war, his image of his life after Hogwarts was a domestic one. It should have been with her that mundane acts seemed natural and as easy as breathing. And he mourned her death, the death of those others he had never allowed himself to grieve for and the guilt of finding happiness with Luna when they would never have that chance._

* * *

That day would never repeat itself. His grief still tightly locked away within him but managing it and the stress from the war began to get easier with Luna’s presence. He knew not if he loved her like he was supposed to. They got marry in their fifth year of living in the cottage over the moors. Hermione and Ron were the witnesses while Draco Malfoy performed the marriage ceremony. Unlikely companions. But unwavering in their lack of judgment. And in return Harry does not judge their choices in life.

Perhaps they each understood that happiness would never be fully realized. Their broken bodies and mind unable to fully grasp the concept.

Hermione and Malfoy stay a single night in an effort to make Luna happy. Luna who had brought Malfoy from the brink of the abyss during and after the war. The one who had trust him far before the rest and had bridged the gap between previous immature distrust. They had all lived through something that no one should ever have to endure. He will be the first to admit that Malfoy was a valuable asset to the war. A far superior strategist. Harry had spent hours with the man that he could no longer hold a grudge for childhood mistakes. And it seemed strange to him on the night of his wedding night that he was the one to marry Luna.

When Luna had dragged Malfoy out of his seat with protest spoken loudly but with little authenticity behind it, Harry had posed the question to his best friend. With a fond smile for her traveling companion, Hermione had just shrugged and repeated what Malfoy had told her.  _That though Luna and Draco spoke a language that we will never understand, they are destined to be with others. Maybe it wouldn’t have been us in another life time but in this lifetime, we force each other to be the best version we can be in our situation._ He could not doubt the feelings that she held for Malfoy as a lingering smile formed on her face at the mention of him. Harry would never know how their relationship began but he didn’t need to know. He just wished for Hermione to find peace within herself. Peace from the relentless societal reminders of her scars.

For perhaps just as Harry saw beauty in Luna’s limp, Malfoy saw beauty in the jagged scar that ran down Hermione’s face. In a way that Harry knew neither Ron nor himself could ever truly match.

Ron who avoided everyone as if they were bad reminders of the past. Harry was grateful he came for his wedding even though a flask never left his hand. They all coped differently. And though Hermione fretted, Harry knew that the horrors of the war haunted him far more than the rest of them. Ron who had locked his humanity away and had yet to find it again. It was with Charlie and his dragons that Ron found a bit of that. In the company of Fleur and her little girl Victorie, the second widowed Mrs. Weasley. And after the wedding, Ron despite invitation had left quickly to be with his family.

* * *

It was on his tenth year in Ireland that they received a call from a Ministry employee. Mr. Dennis Creevey with a hand delivered invitation for Mr. Potter and Mrs. Lovegood Potter to the annual Memorial Day. At the sight of young Dennis Creevey, Harry’s hand had shook profusely as memories of his brother swam in his vision. It was only the gentle touch of Luna’s hand that had stopped him from falling into one of his fits. How could he survive a day filled with memories of those they had lost and those who had the even worse fate of surviving?

Gently leading him out of the doorway even as her weight leaned on him -her leg giving her more trouble again- Luna called out for Dennis to join them in living room for some tea. The afternoon felt like the weight of the world was back as he gripped her hand in his and listening to them talk. He had avoided the Ministry for a reason. They did not understand why he could not go back to London. The memories of Ginny, Arthur, Bill, Lavander, Colin, Lupin, Tonks, and so many others that he still carried with him. Their deaths and memories unable to be forgotten or let go. And he knew he wasn’t alone, he knew that Luna carried her own demons, ones that the Ministry would never understand.

But then in the middle of the conversation, Dennis holds out a loose piece of paper. His intention now clear as Harry gingerly grasps it in his hand.

> _On November 5th in memory of our fallen comrades, the Order of the Phoenix will be meeting at Shell Cottage.  
> _ _We invite you Harry and Luna to join us in remembering our friends._
> 
> _With love,  
>  Parvati, Dean and Seamus_

For the first time in over ten years, Harry Potter returns to England with his hand firmly lodged between Luna’s as they step onto the flower field a few miles from Shell Cottage. The cottage no longer resembles the happy home of Bill and Fleur Weasley. Desolate as the times, the cottage was left in disarray and Harry wonders why Parvati, Seamus and Dean chose this place. The memories of the cottage surge upon him and he’s left lacking breath but the eye of the storm passes as Luna squeezes his hand anchoring him down to the earth. Her leg is better today but he still tentatively smiles at her as he sweeps her into his arms. Physically intact, Harry has never felt as alive as when he rushes down the hill with his wife in his arms.

They are greeted with the sight of Hermione and Malfoy walking towards them. Their lack of affection still present but Harry thinks he understands. There can be no doubt that they share a bond far deeper than conventional understanding if Draco’s gaze and Hermione’s smile are anything to go by. Her smile blooms with beauty even as her face remains marred, but no one else will mention it.

She was not the only one to suffer a physical scar.

Behind them stands Neville with his wife Astoria Greengrass and their daughter Daphne. Their story is one that bridges gaps that far exceeds the story of Hermione and Malfoy. And one that boast the only semblance of normality in their group of misfits. He greets Neville with a shake of his hand and a grin that seems like a facade but all that he can muster given the date. Today is supposed to be a celebration but it can’t help feel as grim as ten years earlier.

As Neville and his family move to speak to Hermione and Malfoy, Harry finds his visions blurred with heads of red as Fred and George call out to him and Luna. Teasing him in a fashion that only they can continue in the face of memory of their fallen loved ones. Harry hates how despondent he sounds even as the rest of them seem more cheerful. George and Fred continue with their work at the joke shop with their partners Lee and Angelina. He broaches the topic silently with George and Fred about Molly whose presence is felt now. She had lived a long enough life George said even though they both understood that she had died of a broken heart. Harry hoped that she was happier now than she had been with the loss of Percy, Ginny, Bill and Arthur. Her worst fear come true but one that she knew was far closer to occurring as the war dragged on.

There is no service. There is no great speech. There are just a bunch of people who have seen horrors and become horrors in the face of survival. A bunch of people who were left to dry as the rest of the Wizarding World praised and celebrated the defeat of the Dark Lord. The Lost Generation would suffer the burden of war.

As the night comes to a close, Harry finds himself wrapped in Luna’s protection as his memories float sporadically through his mind. He knows that he is not alone as they all find comfort in those who drew them out of the darkness … those who draw them out of the darkness every single day. Hermione and Malfoy have disappeared yet he knows they have not left yet. Their comfort only found in the familiarity of each other unable to relax around others. Parvati - who lost both her sisters - is curled on top of Dean’s lap while her fingers stroke idly through Seamus’ hair. George’s arm is wrapped around Lee Jordan’s whose eyes shine amidst the moonlight while his twin holds Angelina Johnson as his lips curled against her ear. Neville buries his face in his wife’s shoulder as his arms clutch her midsection as her eyes stare blankly at the fire. Ron finds his comfort in Fleur even as tears stain her cheek while Charlie hugs his niece as he sits next to them unable to do anything to help his brother. The memory of that day still hindering their relationship from returning to what it was. Harry knows that Charlie has had despicable thoughts before too.

One by one they leave as their ghosts linger on. Their homes calling to them. Their lives calling to them. Perhaps they will all see each other in a few years’ time.

* * *

Curled up in their bed, Harry presses a kiss to Luna’s temple as he holds her, her tears staining his shirt, but remains quiet. There is nothing that he can say to make the pain any less. He knows that she still holds the death of her father close to her heart able to cast those thoughts away in favour of the mythical creatures that swirl in her mind. Sometimes he fears that she will retreat within herself unable to return back to him. He fears what he would do if that were to happen. Ten years after the war and neither of them are fully healed. Their demons haunting them as their memories remain fresh and alive within their minds. They have their bad habits and their bad days, but they also have their good days. The days when Harry forgets that they’ve lived through a war. The days when Harry forgets the names of those they’ve lost. The days when Luna reminds him of how much love and light there is in the world. Those are the days he cherishes the most in the aftermath that had become his life. And he knows that though today is a bad day, tomorrow will undoubtedly be a better one.

**Author's Note:**

> I've always wanted to write a story about the aftermath of the war - a war that I've always pictured to be far longer than what is canon - and how the soldiers of the war must tackle a far greater obstacle. They must learn to survive in a world that isn't focused on war and death when they've lost so much, seen so much and done so much in the name of survival. The first part of this series is Harry Potter’s story. I may add more to it depending but for now, here is his story.  
> Thanks for reading!


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